


comfort & joy

by silverdeer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Christmas, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pet Names, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, Winter, aggressively gentle cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverdeer/pseuds/silverdeer
Summary: A year ago, Steve thought he had nothing. Now he haseverything.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	comfort & joy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% sappy sickfic cuddles and mutual affection and caretaking. If that's your thing, I hope you enjoy. <3

“Did Barnes dress you this morning?” 

Steve looks up at the sound of Tony’s voice, a frown of confusion on his face, and then one of fond exasperation. Honestly, the look suits him, along with the casual outfit he has on: jeans, black boots, and a heavy, soft, cream knit sweater that’s at least one size too big on him. His hair’s a little rumpled, like he didn’t fix it after he tugged the sweater on over his head, and for a brief second, Tony indulges himself in the thought of reaching up to fix Steve’s hair, the way he’s seen Buck do so a few times, the way Bucky does for Tony sometimes, too. 

The little fond, confused expression on his face is also kind of fetching, Tony decides, when he comes to stand next to Steve outside the conference room. Slightly rumpled, slightly confused, a little tired around the edges. It’s just eight o’clock in the morning, but Steve’s usually had coffee, breakfast, and a couple hours in the training rooms or out running by this point. 

This morning, he looks … well, _soft_. Soft and a little sleepy, his tablet, phone, and a notebook tucked against his left side, and a travel mug in his right hand. Tony spends about twenty seconds trying to figure out if Steve has tea or coffee before he gets distracted by the tiny cough Steve gives. The cough is hardly anything, but he still glances aside and turns his face into his shoulder to cover it. 

“I’m not even sure I know what you mean by that question.” Steve clears his throat, frowns again in a slightly different way, then looks at Tony’s outfit. “Sorry I didn’t show up for debrief in a three-piece suit.” 

“First, no, you’re not, and _second_ , neither did I.” He’s in a shirt, tie, and jacket, though, and the longer Tony gazes at Steve’s slightly rumpled, slightly less formal than normal outfit, the more he wishes he were dressed similarly. “I have a lunch meeting after this one that I’ve already postponed twice.”

“Might as well get it over with,” Steve says. His voice dips into a slight rasp and he coughs a couple times to clear his throat, turning his face into the shoulder opposite Tony. “Is it the one with Jenkins? Didn’t he cancel on you, too?” 

“The one and only. I think his job description over at SHIELD says ‘exceedingly eager and equally annoying.’ King of the Interns,” Tony adds and can’t help the way his chest warms at the smile on Steve’s face. The sensation makes him want to slide an arm around Steve, press his cheek to the soft knit of the heavy sweater he has on, maybe take the tablet, phone, and notebook from Steve so he can warm both hands around his travel mug. 

“He tries his best,” Steve says and his voice stays in that lower, raspier register, the one that makes it sound like he just got out of bed. When he takes a sip from his travel mug, the look of relief on his face has to indicate that’s tea, which, in turn, has to mean his throat is sore and he needs some TLC, somebody to look out for him when he’s too stupid or tired or whatever to look out for himself. 

_God_. Okay, no, Tony can’t do that. He seriously cannot, not this early in the morning, not before a standard debrief, and not when he and Steve have been tiptoeing around something more in their relationship the past few weeks. 

He and Steve, and then Steve and Buck, the sideways soft looks and fleeting touches, that yearning that gets just under your skin and edges around your heart… 

But then, Tony’s never pretended that he didn’t see the way Bucky looks at Steve sometimes, like he’s trying to recover something warm and precious, something he lost before the war and the cryo chamber, long before Tony touched the side of his face and melted at the touch of Bucky’s lips against his palm. 

He and Bucky have been happy for the past few months, growing closer and entwining their lives together. Their shared trauma of physical and emotional loss had made it so easy to seek out warmth in each other. Tony’s never slept so well as he does now with Bucky’s arms around his waist; nothing has made him feel as safe as knowing he can keep Bucky safe, too. 

Steve, though… he’s so hesitant sometimes, so uncertain, so guarded, like he’s scared he’ll upset some delicate arrangement, when, truly, he’s the one missing piece in the evenings Tony and Bucky spend together. 

The _one_ missing piece. His warm blue eyes and his careful touches, his shy smile, and the sweet, deferential way he glances aside but leans into the quick touches both Tony and Bucky offer him. 

Tony’s chest warms again and he glances at Steve’s not quite rumpled hair, at his tired eyes, at the tiny, almost imperceptible way he winces a little after he drinks from his travel mug. He may not know Steve as well as Bucky does, but Tony knows him well enough to know that Steve would never make himself tea before debrief, much less remember to make himself the kind you should drink when you have a sore throat. 

_Bucky did that for him_. Bucky made him hot tea and honey; he probably pulled that oversized, extra warm sweater over Steve’s head and rumpled up his hair; maybe Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek before he left on his own mission, bringing that faint shy pink flush to Steve’s cheeks. Maybe Steve nodded when Bucky asked if he didn’t feel well, or maybe he sighed and told Buck not to fuss, like he’s been telling him for seventy years now. 

Around six that morning, Bucky’s alarm had gone off and he’d curled himself up, really warm and tight, around Tony and nuzzled against his shoulder. After a few minutes of quiet talking in bed, he’d gotten up to shower and make coffee, and brought a Christmas reindeer mug full of hot, strong coffee back to bed for Tony. 

“I should only be gone a couple days, sweetheart. Be back tomorrow night,” Bucky had said, and pressed a few kisses to Tony’s lips between sips of coffee. “I gotta go take care of Stevie before I leave, too. I think he’s coming down with something.” 

“Mhmm… he could’ve stayed here last night,” Tony had murmured, and he’d meant it. Steve could’ve just stayed with them after he and Tony both returned home from the same long mission; he could’ve slept in the spare room, or even in their room, god, Tony would’ve happily wrapped him up in blankets and told him to just sleep that fatigue away between them. 

“I tried. He’s shy.” There’d been a laugh in Bucky’s voice, but there was truth behind it. Shy about being sick in front of both of them, shy about letting them take care of him, shy about the sort of closeness both would entail.. 

That same shyness lights Steve’s eyes when Tony touches the small of his back at the sound of another ticklish cough. Tony doesn’t actually mean for his hand to rest there, and then stay there, and then rub a warm slow circle there when Steve gives a tired, quiet sigh, but… 

Well. Here they are. Standing in front of the Avengers Tower main conference room, waiting for a debrief meeting to start, and all Tony wants to do is finally convince Steve to let Tony hold him, to let himself have all the warmth and comfort and love both he and Bucky want to give him when he’s not feeling well.

“Hey,” Tony says. “I can make that lunch date a coffee date, and you and I can grab something to eat together instead. Unless you have other plans?” 

“Oh…” Steve sniffles a little, just enough to wrinkle his nose against, and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, that would be nice, actually. Can you do O’Malley’s?” 

“For you, Steven, I can _buy_ O’Malley’s and give it to you for Christmas.” And he _would_ , but Tony gives Steve a flourish of a smile to make it look like a joke. 

“Please don’t,” Steve says, laughs, and makes himself cough a little, too. “But text me when you want to meet? I’m sure my half of post-mission debrief and discussion will last past noon today.”

“No way, I’m scheduling you in right now, so when my alert for my high-level importance meeting goes off, I have a reason to get away from Jenkins.” Tony fiddles with his phone for a second, then shares the appointment with Steve so it’s on his calendar, too. “There, it’s official.” 

“High-level importance lunch date.” Steve hides a smile against his mug of tea and his hair falls into his face, enough that he has to shrug it aside, and he sniffles again as he does so. “Thank goodness you were able to fit me in.” 

“Exactly. So don’t stand me up, Steven, I’ve been trying to ask you out to lunch for weeks now.” Tony’s pretty sure there was a little too much bare honesty in that statement, but the warmth of Steve’s body next to his makes the admission worth it. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Tony.” Steve smiles a little more, then finally, finally relaxes into the press of Tony’s hand against his back.

*

**Tony**  
 _He’s definitely getting sick. What do I DO with him when he’s sick? He looks like his throat hurts._ 😣

Buckybot 💢❤️❤️❤️  
_Sick people things. Try to get him to drink more tea and rest instead of running himself ragged. Did Jenkins cancel on you again or are you just bored?_

**Tony**  
_I cancelled on Jenkins to try and take Steve out for soup. So, even though I’m going to have lunch with the Worst Sick Person Ever™️, I’d rather listen to Steve’s endless sniffles than to endless intern reports._

Buckybot 💢❤️❤️❤️  
_You don’t hate Jenkins that much at all._

_And you love Stevie a lot more than that._

_(You can tell him to blow his nose, though. Boss him around a little. He likes it.)_

**Tony**  
_SIGH._

_I do._

_(GOD. Please don’t say things like that when I’m having coffee with the King of the Interns.)_

*

Steve’s not at O’Malley’s when Tony arrives, which Tony expects, given that he gets himself out of his coffee meeting fifteen minutes earlier than he needs to.

And, honestly, he doesn’t mind supervising the interns over at SHIELD at all, not even one single bit, but a two hour meeting that could be covered in an email is just inefficient. 

Being early, however, means getting a quiet booth near the back of the restaurant, tucked into a warm corner, away from the lunch rush, the busy bar, and business meetings. Not that Steve would ever complain about any of those things, but he’s catching a cold and he’s probably already a little headachy and tired. 

“Hey, Tony… this is nice,” Steve says when he slips into the snug booth ten minutes later. “Warm,” he adds as he unzips his coat and rubs his hands together. He touches the back of his hand briefly to his nose to cover a sniffle, then gives himself a shake. “Sorry I couldn’t get here right at one.” 

Headachy. tired, and a little stuffy already, Tony notes, then scrutinizes the pink tips of Steve’s ears and nose. His eyes look a little watery, too, and even though the restaurant is really warm, Steve’s still huddling into his coat. 

“You know it’s freezing outside, right? Did you walk?” 

“Didn’t you?” 

“Which one of us was across the street at DelMonico’s Cafe and which one of us is catching a cold?” 

Steve opens his mouth to object, probably that the Tower is just as far as the cafe, but he ducks his head and gives a little nod of resignation. 

“Yeah, okay, I’m feeling a little low.” 

Which-- _wait._

Not that Steve’s super into denying when he’s sick or hurt, but it’s like pulling proverbial teeth to get him to admit he’s feeling bad because of either one. Here, in this quiet, warm corner of O’Malley’s, he’s rubbing his face and trying not to sniffle, and he looks like the past few hours have sapped him of whatever energy he had left after that last longer mission. 

“Steve….” Tony reaches across the table to rest his hands over Steve’s, then rubs his thumbs over the back of Steve’s cold hands. “You just got back yesterday evening. You look and sound like you’re coming down with something pretty nasty. You can take a day off, you know.”

“I… I know.” A little half-smile, then a brief one-shoulder shrug, and Steve looks like he’s going to burrow down into his scarf and say he’s fine, just tired or cold or…. “I just need to get through today, then I’ll… I don’t know. Work from home on those reports, I guess.” 

“Take a sick day? Take a sick day, take a couple, take a whole week, I’ll write you a note and everything.” Tony answers his own question before Steve has a chance to say anything. He’s still got his hands on top of Steve’s too, like he can’t bear to move them when Steve looks so cold and sniffly. 

Really, he _can’t_. He can’t bear the idea of Steve pushing himself through who knows how many debrief meeting and conference calls and training sessions with his strike team. He can’t bear the thought of Steve thinking he can’t come home to Tony and Bucky when he’s sick and exhausted. 

“Tony,” Steve murmurs. He presses his hands into the way Tony’s taken to rubbing his thumbs over Steve’s knuckles and he gives another tiny, shy smile when Tony looks up at him after looking down at his hands. “I’m okay. I’ve got a sore throat and runny nose. I’ve survived worse.” 

“I know. Of course you’re okay. But you could be _more_ okay. Buck and I, we… want that.” For a second, Tony’s heart crowds his throat, and he can’t believe he allowed himself to make some kind of love confession here at the back of a restaurant. 

“For me to be more okay?” Steve frowns a little, then goes shy when he has to rub his nose against his shoulder. 

“For you to be the _most_ okay.” The words force their way out and for a wild moment, Tony thinks he fucked up. 

But it’s so warm inside and Steve’s sitting so close to him, the multi-color holiday lights strung up around the snug, tight booths at the back of O’Malley’s, and Tony’s been waiting and _waiting_ for Steve to realize. He’s seen the soft, longing look in his eyes and the tired, empty one; he’s seen the way Bucky rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder and asks him to spend the night, and the way Bucky nods when Steve looks down, too uncertain, too bashful. 

Like he can’t imagine they all want the same thing. Like he can’t believe they want _him_. 

Steve slips his fingers between Tony’s and something soft and intimate passes between them, something new and quiet and longed for. 

“Your hands still feel cold,” Tony murmurs under his breath. “Who let your hands get this cold?” 

That shy, soft smile appears on Steve’s face again and he glances aside to sniffle a couple times, face scrunching up around his nose to try and keep in check. The effect is absolutely, ridiculously endearing, and Tony only holds his hands tighter when Steve turns his face into his shoulder to sniffle again. 

“Then warm them up,” Steve says, between sniffles, and holds Tony’s hands for a few more seconds before he really does have to reach into his coat pocket for a couple tissues with one hand. 

“Oh, I will. You know I will…” Tony squeezes Steve’s one hand with both of his own, then lets Steve swipe at his nose a few times before their waitress arrives. When she does, Tony orders tea for Steve, then bread and soup for the both of them. “I got you the chicken orzo, but we can get something else to bring home.” 

Steve’s nose is still running, even as he pushes it up against a few tissues, and he looks like he wants to apologize to Tony. His eyes tear up a little, though, and he really does give Tony a stuttery apology as he ducks down into the tissues with a sneeze. 

Well, with four sneezes, all in a row, quiet and muffled down into the tissues, his shoulders trembling with each one as he curls in on himself in the booth. Steve’s hardly a loud sick person, even when he’s sneezing so many times like that, but each sneeze looks a lot stronger than it sounds, and Steve gives this small, scratchy sounding sigh of relief when he’s finished. 

“Oh. _snff!_ Excuse me.” Steve blinks, then scrubs the tissues back up against his already pink nose and gives himself a little shake. “I thought I could hold those back.” 

“Bless you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sneeze that much.” Tony’s tempted to touch Steve’s hand again, or stroke his wrist, anything just to be closer to him, but their drinks arrive and Steve already looks bashful. 

So, Tony shifts his foot closer when Steve’s shoe brushes up against his, half-wishing they were the sort of couple who’d prefer to sit next to than across from each other at a restaurant. Bucky doesn’t mind that, he’ll even put an arm around Tony’s shoulders and snug him closer when they’re in a place like this. 

He’d do it for Steve, and Tony would, too. Just wrap his arm up around Steve’s shoulders and pull him close when he shivers. 

“Are you warm enough here?” Tony asks at the thought. 

“You don’t need to fuss. Buck already did that this morning,” he adds, when Tony’s eyes drift to that heavy, warm sweater Steve’s wearing. 

“So, I was right. He did dress you. I know how the two of you work,” Tony says. He catches a little look in Steve’s eyes, something uncertain but not unfond, and he settles into his seat as their bread and soup arrives at the table. 

“All right. M-maybe you do. Oh-h…” Steve’s breath trembles again, precarious for a few nose-twitching seconds, but he waits for their server to leave so he can tuck his face into the crook of his elbow. He muffles one soft, strong sneeze into his sweater, then coughs quietly. 

“Just one?” Tony asks, that fond warmth moving through him again. 

Steve nods, then shakes his head and tuck his face down into that warm, soft sweater again for a quick, quiet sneeze that’s itchy enough to make his eyes tear up and set him sniffling again. When he ducks aside a third time, his shoulders shudder at how firmly he muffles the sneeze back. Steve coughs into his elbow, too, and he’s so pink around his eyes and nose when he raises his head. 

“Bless you, bless you… god, you really don’t catch colds by half, do you?” Tony pats his own pockets down, comes up with a clean, neatly folded handkerchief, then offers it to Steve. 

Who, predictably, flushes pink over his cheeks but accepts it with a polite, albeit sniffly, thank you. Steve shrugs his hair off his forehead as he unfolds the handkerchief, then gives a series of sniffly little blows into the cloth. 

“Thanks, Tony. Uh, It’s just a cold, really, but … thank you,” he says again, his smile grateful. 

Tony’s right, though. He really hasn’t seen Steve sneeze like that in well, _ever_. He’s never really seen him sick, though, not this kind of sick, with all the coughing and sneezing and congestion brewing in his head. 

They eat their soup in relative quiet, talking about the meetings they both had after the early debrief session, and if Steve spends most of his time trying to cope with a scratchy throat and runny nose, well, Tony’s not going to complain about that. Their lunch date _is_ better than hours of internship conversation and Steve looks more and more relaxed with Tony paying attention to him. He doesn’t look quite as bashful when the sneezes keep coming, though he still turns aside to blow his nose and excuses himself after each series. 

By the time they finish, he’s starting to look a little more run down, too. It’s just past two-thirty, Steve’s probably been up as long as Tony has, and he’s still convinced he needs to put in a full work day. 

So, Tony orders at least two day’s worth of soup to go, grabs the food on the way out after leaving their server a generous tip, and slips his free arm around Steve’s waist as they walk out into a typical cold, windy New York City afternoon in December.

“What does your afternoon look like?” Steve asks. Even in the knit scarf, winter jacket, and gloves, he looks a little shivery. His nose is so pink, too, after just a few minutes in the wind, and he’s definitely fighting off the urge to rub at it with the way he keeps wrinkling it against the chilly wind. 

“Paperwork, the kind I can’t even pass on to Pepper. Not real paper, though, I’m all about electronically signing whatever I can, as long as it’s my own encryption.” Tony considers for a moment. “Not that I couldn’t rewrite all of SHIELD’s encryption this afternoon if I really wanted to. For fun, or whatever.” 

Steve’s eyes glaze over a little as Tony talks, and Tony’s about to make an old man joke when Steve leans away with a series of sudden, urgent sneezes. He runs through four sneezes, each one a little harsher than the first, and the last one sounds like it really hurts his throat. 

“Oh my god, again? You’re not …. here, c’mere.” Tony pulls Steve back in close when he tries to lean away and snuffle into the borrowed handkerchief. “I promise I don’t care. I got you like three gallons of soup and I’m going to get you a dozen boxes of those super soft Kleenex. I _promise_ I don’t care.” 

Steve laughs, then coughs and sniffles. “I am sorry, though. I can’t help it,” he adds in this soft, raspy voice and with an uncertain little expression on his face that fades into a trace of a smile when Tony nods. 

“I know. Let’s go home, we’ll do a paperwork date after our lunch date, and I won’t make fun of how sneezy you are when you get sick.” 

A sidelong glance is all Tony gets from Steve at first, but that soft smile returns quickly enough, and the promise of warm drinks and not having to abandon his work seems to be enough to persuade Steve to come work in Tony’s workshop.

*

Stevie ☀️💛💕  
 _Tell Tony he doesn’t need to fuss. I have a cold, that’s all. I don’t need a heating pad or half of CVS._

 **Buck**  
_I’m in the middle of some Dakota kicking HYRDA ass and you want me to do what? Go take a nap and let him fuss. You’re SICK. Your chest feel okay?_

Stevie ☀️💛💕  
_Buck, you don’t need to fuss either. You’ve got work to worry about._

**Buck**  
_Yeah… so do me a favor and go rest so I don’t have to worry over you._

Stevie ☀️💛💕  
_I’m hardly sick._

**Buck**  
_Right, compared to…? Winter 1937?_

Stevie ☀️💛💕  
_That’s not fair. Also, that was my asthma’s fault, not mine._

**Buck**  
_Look, I couldn’t tell him not to fuss even if I were there with you._

_Also, just… please rest. Please rest and get better. I miss you. xx_

Stevie ☀️💛💕  
_Miss you, too. And I will. We both will. xx_

*

The coffee table at the back of Tony’s workshop is covered in paperwork. Files and folders and Steve’s notebook open to the pages he filled today with notes and half-done sketches. In the four hours since they got back to the Tower, Tony’s finished about half his paperwork, has had two phone conversations with Pepper over the same report, and has retreated to poke at some coding project.

Steve’s not sure he’s even made his way through half the paperwork and mission reports he has. He’s stopped at least a half a dozen times just to blow his nose and each time is more embarrassing than the one before. His nose doesn’t seem to want to stop running, even though the congestion in his head is building steadily, so he just feels like a stuffy, drippy mess. Staring at the screen makes Steve’s eyes water after a couple hours and pretty soon even working with pen and paper is making them feel tired and itchy. 

At least he hasn’t been sneezing as much since he’s been inside, though the warm, tingling sensation in his nose hasn’t really faded. He’s been muffling scattered sneezes into a handful of tissues every so often since he and Tony settled down to work; every time he raises his face from the tissues, Tony gives him this split-second long soft look, and every part of Steve just wants to melt from that brief moment of warmth. The soft look in his eyes, the softer tone his voice adopts when he blesses Steve, the few, quick soft touches--to Steve’s shoulder or wrist--after he thanks Tony and pardons himself. 

Steve’s basking a little in the memory of that expression on Tony’s face after he blessed Steve for a run of three quick, quiet sneezes, and how _good_ it felt to have somebody hand him tissues and look concerned for him, when Tony drops something into his lap. 

“Here. Just… go on, relax. Do you want some tea?” Tony frowns when Steve frowns, then nudges the Kleenex closer to Steve. 

“Um. Oh, god…” Steve fumbles at the box of tissues on the sofa when he realizes how stuffy he’s started to sound, then just scrubs his nose into the Kleenex to hide how twitchy and snuffly it is. “A blanket? I really don’t need that...” 

“Well, yeah, I think that’s pretty nap-appropriate. And you could use a nap.” Tony drops himself down onto the sofa, too, and reaches up to touch the back of his hand to Steve’s face. “Hm…” 

“What? I'm okay.” Steve lowers his eyes, suddenly shy at the affection, and is highly, highly aware of each quiet, heavy sniffle he nose can’t hold back. 

“You’re a little warm,” Tony replies. 

“Probably nothing.” Steve shrugs, deferential, and presses a couple clean, folded tissues to his nose. 

“Buck said you might start running a little fever if the cold is bad,” Tony says, just softly, and strokes the back of his hand against Steve’s cheek. 

“Bucky said that?” That warm, fond feeling in Steve’s chest expands, and he knows he won’t be able to stop thinking about that gentle little way Tony touches his cheek, or about the way Bucky fusses over him quietly even though Buck’s on a mission out in the midwest. 

Then, just like that, he _misses_ Bucky. He misses the way Bucky practically shoved him into the heaviest, warmest sweater he owns that morning, and the way Bucky made him lemon-honey tea and rested his own palm against Steve’s cheek. 

He misses the way Bucky used to sit up with him when he was too wheezy and congested to sleep, when the tiny apartment they shared was never quite warm enough but somehow they managed. He misses Bucky’s easy smiles and how Steve had hoped, maybe, after the war, a few more of those smiles would be just for him. 

The sudden longing hits him in a way it hasn’t in _years_ , and maybe Steve’s just too tired and too full of burgeoning head cold to stop himself from feeling a little sad and lonely over it. He turns away from Tony’s touch to scrub both hands over his face, willing his eyes not to tear up or his nose to start running all over again. 

Not that he’s particularly successful, but Tony doesn’t deserve to have Steve turn into a sappy mess in front of him like this. He misses Bucky, and he feels bad for missing Bucky, then he feels oddly empty when Tony’s hand moves from his face. 

“Hey,” Tony says, and he rests his hand on Steve’s arm to rub warmly. “He cares about you an awful lot, you have to know that.” 

Steve nods and snuffles, scrubs his nose up against his knuckles, then presses his knuckles up against his eyes, too. When he turns to look at Tony, catching that soft, concerned look on Tony’s face again, Steve’s eyes tear up all over again and his breath goes a little shaky. 

“Hey… hey, it’s okay, what’s… oh, Steven,” Tony says, his voice really soft, too. 

“I'm sorry… I-I just… I missed Buck so bad for a second there. I just missed _everything_ ,” Steve says before he can stop himself. _Not that there was anything to miss_ , he thinks, and feels foolish when Tony has to hand him even more clean tissues. That moment after the war that he’d wished for never came true for them, and sometimes Steve wonders if they waited too long. 

“Well, you were gone for a couple weeks, and now he’s gone…” Tony’s hand rests his hand on Steve’s arm again, fingers stroking back and forth through his sweater sleeve, and then rubbing up and down his arm. “Look, I can’t… I can’t be Bucky, I don’t even know how Buck--” 

“--I know, I didn’t mean, and I’m… I’m glad, you’re here with me, Tony, I--” 

“Yeah, shh, I know. I know,” Tony says again, and he slides his hand around to rub at Steve’s back when he coughs a couple times. “You are _definitely_ sick,” he murmurs under his breath, then: “I can’t be Bucky, and I can’t… I can never be there for the asthma attacks and the shitty, cold water, Brooklyn tenement days, though, if you want, I’d also buy you--” 

“ _Tony_. Please don’t buy me a Brooklyn tenement.” Steve sniffles and coughs again, and finds himself leaning right into Tony’s hand on his back. A soft sligh slips from his lips and he gives Tony an earnest look. “I don’t need you to be Bucky, don’t ever think that.” 

“Yeah, but you might need me to take care of you, and that’s Bucky’s job, but…” Rubbing his hand in a slow, warm circle over Steve’s back, Tony's face goes uncharacteristically uncertain. “I wouldn’t mind trying. We care about you in a lot of similar ways…” 

Something unfurls in Steve’s chest: the warmth and hope of possibility, of knowing that he and Bucky have always loved each other the same way even when the world conspired to keep them apart, that he and Tony could have that same kind of closeness, that the three of them could take care of each other. 

Steve’s breath goes all shaky again, in just the right way that makes him cough and has him trying to cope with the runny-stuffy nose all over again. The hand Tony has at his back rubs another warm circle, then moves to stroke the hair off Steve’s forehead. Really gentle, even a little hesitant, and Tony’s warm brown eyes carry the faintest touch of bashful uncertainty as he pets Steve’s hair. He pushes Steve’s hair off his forehead, then again when it falls back into Steve’s eyes when he coughs and sniffles.

“Okay, sunshine, I really do think you _are_ running a little fever. Plus, you’ve had about what? Ten hours of sleep in the past two or three days?” Tony smoothes Steve’s hair back off his forehead again; he goes soft and concerned when Steve shrugs, then leans the smallest bit into the touch. “Oh my god, I’m taking you home and putting you to bed with soup and NyQuil, and you’re going to act like an actual sick person. I _deserve_ that for this over-emotional experience.” 

“Oh, _you_ deserve that?” Steve murmurs. His voice is so quiet and raspy, though, that he has to clear his throat, then feels his face flush at how obviously sick he sounds already. 

“I do. I deserve this so much. And so do you, Steve.” Tony’s thumb brushes just over Steve’s cheekbone, then again when Steve lowers his eyes. “C’mon, home, then soup and tea and NyQuil. You can fall asleep on me while I get stuck watching _Holiday Inn_ for the third time this month.” 

“Promise?” Steve asks, and he means it for all of what Tony just said. 

“Yeah, I do.” From the way Tony touches his face and touches his forehead to Steve’s, Steve can tell Tony does mean it.

*

And Tony keeps every one of those small, murmured promises. They stop at his and Bucky’s place for him to grab a few things--clothes for him to wear around the house, medicine and tissues for Steve _(“I know you don’t even have cold medicine or the nice tissues… don’t even give me that look, I’m immune to that look.”_ ), and the tablet Tony uses when he works on projects at home.

Steve spends the whole time waiting for Tony trying to fight off a persistent case of the sniffles. His nose is itchy and stuffy and runny all at once, like he’s just on the brink of a sneezing fit, but also like he’s too congested to actually get himself to sneeze. Every time his nose twitches, his eyes feel the need to water in sympathy. By the time Tony’s finished, all Steve wants to do is scrub his face into the sleeve of his sweater to try and get at the stuffy tickle at the back of his nose. 

Tony’s exchanged his jeans for joggers and he’s pulled a worn, soft red cardigan on over his tee shirt. When he slips his arm around Steve to walk him over to his own apartment, he feels so warm and relaxed and strong that Steve can’t resist snugging himself close. He keeps that arm around Steve through the short walk and elevator ride, then pulls him in a little closer once they’re in Steve’s apartment. 

“You look like you just caught the rest of that cold. Or, well, like it caught you.” 

“I’m okay,” Steve says, then really does just rub his face up against the cuff of his sweater. The sleeve’s long enough he can tug it down over his palm then scrub at one eye and the side of his irritated nose. “Just… pretty tired, and pretty stuffy,” he admits. 

“You’re definitely both of those. God bless you!” Tony exclaims just as a sudden, strong sneeze pulls Steve out of his arms. “How long have you been holding that off?” 

Steve shakes his head, then tips it up slightly as that stuffy itch fills his sinuses. His breath catches on the buildup to the second sneeze, making him cough a few times, and he ends up sneezing twice, one right after the other, down at his left arm. That only ever happens when he’s sick, and Steve gives a stuffy little groan after that double sneeze takes his breath away. 

“Bless you… I think we’re heading bed-wards, not to the sofa. Nope, it’s bedtime,” Tony adds when Steve gives an uncertain snuffle. 

He sneezes again, and then _again_ , when his nose tickles madly, leaving Steve unable to object. Or, forget objecting, the only thing he’s really able to do is swipe at his nose with a few tissues and clear his throat, both over and again. The final sneeze in the little fit is strong and shivery, strong enough that Steve rests a hand on his chest to recover for a few seconds. 

Then the embarrassed flush creeps up his face again, though, and thankfully Tony leaves him in the bedroom to change into his pajamas. Steve finds a pair of flannel pj pants, but leaves on the soft tee shirt and heavy sweater that Buck picked out for him that morning. Snuffling though getting changed means he has to blow his nose a few times over before Tony gets back; when he does, though, Tony snags a couple more tissues for Steve and even leans in to drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

Steve and Tony have tea and soup in bed as promised, and Tony hands over a double-dose of NyQuil between the two. Steve thinks he ought to protest, to say he doesn’t need any of this--not the tea, the soup, the medicine, the closeness…

But his heart yearns for this so much: to know he can drift asleep and that Tony will still be there, that he’ll text Bucky about their evening together, that Steve can wake up stuffy and coughish and Tony will hand him tea or tissues and it’ll be fine, he won’t have to feel embarrassed or sorry or alone. They’re watching _Holiday Inn_ , Steve’s half-asleep, and Tony’s humming along to the Christmas songs from the movie. 

“Are you going to keep this on?” Tony asks and tugs on the sleeve of Steve’s sweater. When Steve just blinks and sniffles at him, Tony leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Leave it on, sunshine. You’re practically asleep already.” 

Steve wants to object, but the medicine’s already making him drowsy, all that soup and tea warmed him up inside, and nestling next to Tony in bed is just as warm and comfortable. He’s tired, warm, and sick, and all he can think about is how good it feels to rub his face against Tony’s shoulder and let himself doze off.

*

Tony 🌙💛❤️  
 _This is ridiculous. I need you to come home. I need you to be here with us. It’s almost Christmas and Steve’s sick and I need you to come home._ 🥺

 **Bucky**  
_It’s past one a.m. in NYC. Why are both of you so hard to get to sleep?_

Tony 🌙💛❤️  
_Steven’s asleep…._ 😍 _He took NyQuil for me and dozed off on my shoulder. (Unprecedented! He just fell RIGHT ASLEEP. And he keeps making little snuffly sounds.)_

**Bucky**  
_Yes, you sent me four (4) pictures of him sleeping next to you…_

_(And yes. He looks adorable. And yes, he snores when he’s sick. His sinuses are probably acting up… Did he say if he had a headache?)_

_Fever?_

_Okay, yeah, you’re right. Finishing up here as fast as possible, sweetheart._

Tony 🌙💛❤️  
_I added at least a dozen holiday movies to our queue. You’re the only thing we’re missing._ ❤️🎄

*

Steve wakes up a few times during the night, bleary and congested, too tired and sick to apologize for how many sneezes and coughs there are. Tony’s still awake the first couple times, watching television or reading, and he either rubs between Steve’s shoulders or strokes his hair to get him back to sleep.

Tony’s asleep at least one time Steve wakes up, and he ends up muffling a whole series of sneezes into the blankets to try and stay quiet. Quiet enough not to wake Tony up, anyway, though he’s too congested to fall back asleep and Tony eventually does wake up to Steve coughing and rubbing at his face. 

They both fall back asleep soon enough, though, and when Steve finally wakes up for real that morning, Tony’s already awake. 

He’s drinking coffee in bed and reading, the same way Bucky used to all those years ago. For a few minutes, Steve’s too sleepy to do anything but watch Tony. When Tony holds out an arm to him, he nestles in closer and rubs his face against Tony’s side. 

“You and Buck do this together….” His voice comes out low and raspy-quiet, muffled with congestion, and Steve knows from the tickle in his head he’s going to start with the coughs and sneezes again soon. 

“Mm? Oh… yeah, most mornings. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t give you coffee when you’re sick, but I’ll do tea.” Tony doesn’t move, though, not when Steve curls in closer to him. He’s in pajamas now, soft jersey knit pants and a tee shirt, with that warm, worn cardigan pulled on over his shoulders. 

Steve presses his face right into Tony’s sweater and lets him think about waking up like this with Tony and Bucky, how warm it would be and how perfect it would be. They can have this now, he can have this now, and it wouldn’t be weird, it would just be the three of them together. 

When the itch in his head flare up again, Steve pulls away instead of nuzzling his face into Tony’s sweater more firmly, no matter how good that would feel. They’re probably not there yet, he thinks, bleary and stuffy, and tries to blink away the urge to sneeze. 

Not that it actually helps; the itch fills Steve’s sinuses and teases at his nose long enough to be frustrating. His breath comes in a few tentative, hitching breaths, giving him enough time to hold his arm in front of his face, and then making him cough a little. 

Tony still has an arm around him and it stays around him, even when Steve has to bury his twitching nose into the sleeve of his sweater with a strong, stuffy sneeze. Rubbing his nose against the knit of his sweater only coaxes out another two sneezes, but they’re lower and throatier sounding, and Steve has to wince at the way his throat still hurts. 

“Bless you… Oh…. you sound so sick,” Tony says under his breath, then when Steve shakes his head. “No wonder Buck went to check on you yesterday morning already, it just comes over you all at once, doesn’t it?” 

Steve shakes his head, ends up sneezing again, a raspy, snuffly sort of sneeze that he can feel in his throat and in his sinuses. He catches it against the side of his arm, but he’s not able to restrain the sneeze at all. 

Which… _ugh._

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles, “gonna get you sick,” he adds when Tony pushes tissues into his hand and then strokes his hair. 

“Well… probably? possibly? maybe? Whatever, it hardly matters.” Tony’s voice sounds genuine, though, and his face is soft and fond when Steve frowns at him. “Let’s have breakfast in bed and you can watch me do work, then take some more medicine.” 

“Oh… Probably all germs in here,” Steve says. He glances around the bedroom, then blushes when his eyes land on the pile of crumpled tissues on the bed. 

“Steven. You pretty much slept on top of me last night. If your bedroom is all germs, then so am I. No, no, don’t look sorry, it’s fine.” Tony pulls off his reading glasses and leans in to nuzzle against Steve’s temple. “It’s fine. It’s worth it to get sick to finally have this. _Us_.” 

Steve finally nods in agreement, but has to go through about three rounds of blowing his nose, sneezing some more, and blowing his nose again before they’re ready to think about pancakes and eggs and tea. 

“Juice, and tea, and … well, that’s all you’re allowed, but I’m having coffee,” Tony declares. 

And so they have just that: eggs, pancakes, tea, coffee, and juice, breakfast in bed, and Tony plies Steve with even more tea and a promise that he can read his own email as long as his eyes don’t start bothering him. 

That’s another promise Tony keeps; he lets Steve settle on the sofa after taking a long, hot shower and changing in warm sweats and one of Bucky’s sweaters, the maroon vee-neck that Steve knows Tony usually steals for himself. They spend the rest of the morning working, then have soup and toast for lunch together, and Tony tries to get Steve to drink ridiculous amounts of tea when he refuses more cold medicine. 

They’re watching one of the cliché Christmas films on Netflix, curled up around each other on the sofa, and about two more hours into getting some work done when Steve feels his cold catch up with him. He’s been awake for a good few hours, which doesn’t seem long enough for how heavy his head feels, but … well, the cold’s probably about as bad as Tony keeps telling Steve it is. 

“Hey… sleepyhead…” Tony nudges his foot against Steve, then smiles when Steve scrubs at one eye with the heel of his hand. “What sounds better: a nap or more meds? I vote nap. I could probably nap if you nap.” 

“Hm… Tissues?” 

“Weren’t on the list, but I think we can opt in for Kleenex before the mutual afternoon napping.” 

Tony snags the box of Kleenex and tugs out three tissues for Steve; he keeps the box in his own lap while Steve snuffles and coughs his way through them, then drops the box on the floor next to his side of the sofa. He opens up his arms and makes a soft, coaxing sound, then a pleased one when Steve cuddles in against him. 

Steve’s a little too stuffy and sick to fall asleep immediately, but he’s pretty sure Tony dozes off before he does. Once he can settle in against the slow, even rhythm of Tony’s breathing, his eyes start to droop and feel heavy, and Steve feels himself start to drift off, too. 

Steve hardly wakes up when Tony nudges him, then leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. All he feels is the gentle warm pressure of Tony’s lips against his cheek, then even more gentle words against his ear. 

“Buck’s home,” Tony says, then kisses Steve again, like now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop wanting to nuzzle against Steve as he blinks and snuffles at Tony. “I’ve got a phone conference with Fury in DC and then I’ll grab dinner.” 

“Mhmm? Uh…” Steve blinks at Tony again, then scrubs his left eye when it itches and waters like crazy. “S’fine Tony, honey… y’look tired,” he adds when Tony leans away then turns aside with a quiet cough. The faint, irritated sound to that cough has Steve fumbling for Tony’s wrist to tug him in close. 

“Go back to sleep, babydoll…” That’s Buck, Steve thinks, and even in his fuzzy, bleary state, something inside him thrills to hear Bucky call him _babydoll_. If only he could pull Bucky in close to him, too, and curl up in the warmth of Bucky’s fingers in this hair and the low sound of Bucky’s voice in his ear. 

Steve must fall back asleep because by the time he’s truly awake, it’s dark outside and the Christmas lights he has strung up around his living room are on. Instead of a movie, there’s soft music playing, and the room is filled with a mellow softness. Gentle fingers sift through his hair and Steve realizes he’s curled in next to Bucky on the couch. 

He ought to say something, Steve thinks, he ought to explain to Bucky how much it means to him to have both him and Tony in his apartment, how much it means they’re both being so warm and affectionate with him. How happy he is that it’s finally the three of them together, without the uncertainties or doubts. 

But all Steve can do is pull himself to sit up next to Bucky, then lean in to rub his face against Bucky’s shoulder with a hoarse little stuffy sound. Bucky wraps an arm around him, though, and lets out a tired sigh. After a minute, he pets the back of Steve’s neck, then smiles when Steve nestles against him, a lot more awake this time. 

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Bucky says, then, “Steve,” and “ _Steve_ ,” again, his voice low and soft.

“Yeah, Buck…” Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s and closes his eyes. Bucky says in the same voice he used when he called Steve babydolll, low and warm and with the slight touch of reverent disbelief. 

Bucky’s arms slip around him warm and strong to hold Steve close. “It’s nice and warm,” his own voice quiet, too, but stuffy enough that he has to rub at his nose. When he catches Bucky watching him, Steve glances aside. 

“My poor sick guy,” Bucky murmurs. “My Stevie… you’ve always been my Stevie, you know that, right?” 

Tears prick at the corners of Steve’s eyes; he doesn’t try to stop them, not with Bucky holding him close, and not when Bucky reaches up to cup the palm of his right hand against Steve’s cheek. 

“I know. I know that now.” 

Their first kiss is quick and soft, a brush of Steve’s lips against Bucky’s, and Steve smiles when Bucky tips his head up to kiss Steve on the forehead when he makes a tiny, congested sound. 

“Tony told me to give you cold medicine and watch a terrible Christmas movie with you.” Bucky kisses the bridge of Steve’s nose, then nuzzles against Steve when he sniffles. 

“Hmm… he would.” Steve lets out a content sigh; super congested and raspy, but content. “I’m so glad you’re home, Buck. I’m just so glad.” There’s no way to fit all the days and weeks and months of longing into that one sentence; no way to tell Bucky how much Steve loved him, how much he loves him. Yet, Bucky must understand, for he kisses Steve again, quick and gentle and hums a soft ‘me too.’

*

Sunshine Boy ☀️💝💛☀️  
 _Pizza? Or maybe pasta? Can you get some kind of baked pasta thing for Bucky? With protein? I’m not sure he had enough to eat on that mission, and I want him to have something hot and filling. And you, too, I think you mostly had soup with me for lunch._

**Tony**  
_Holiday pasta and chicken parm for dinner, check._

_You didn’t need to write me the Great American Novel to get it, though. You know I’m happy to have somebody else cook dinner for us_ ❤️❤️

Sunshine Boy ☀️💝💛🐣  
_Okay, that’s perfect! Thank you. I can pick it up if you order…_

**Tony**  
_Are you already getting cabin fever after staying home with your stuffy nose for one (1) day?_

_Speaking of--how does our tissue supply look? Actually, don’t answer, I’ll grab more sick people supplies. You and Buck get some rest together._ 💛

*

**Tony**  
 _Steven said to get you chicken parm and pasta… Does he need tissues? Soup? Cough drops? You know how he is about asking for things…_

Buck Rogers ❤️💛😍💙❤️  
_He’s leaning against my shoulder and reading my texts and sniffling the whole time._

**Tony**  
_I’ll take that as a yes. Also: hi, Steven._ 🐣

Buck Rogers ❤️💛😍💙❤️  
_Are you… texting me this time during a conference call? How do you ever get any work done?_

**Tony**  
_I can multitask! Please send cute boyfriend selfies. Please don’t leave me out of whatever shenanigans you two are up to._

*

Bucky cleans up the dinner plates and cups, leaves them in the kitchen sink, and promises himself he’ll clean Steve’s small kitchen up tomorrow. Tony’s already sprawled out on the living room sofa, his hair rumpled up and his expression sleepy. Steve’s in the bathroom, coughing and sneezing his way through a hot shower, probably ready for medicine and an early night.

And Bucky… Bucky’s just glad to be home after thirty-six hours out in the field. He’s tired and sore, but so incredibly grateful to be standing in Steve’s kitchen, making tea and thinking about falling asleep to whatever Christmas movie Tony chooses. 

Because, yes, Bucky’s ceded control of the television to Tony. Steve’s too tired and congested to care what’s on the tv and Tony’s just so happy to watch sappy holiday movies that Bucky can’t refuse him. Steve has Christmas lights up around the living room, a small tree decorated with tinsel, and about three blankets on the sofa. All of which makes it very, very easy for Bucky to curl up on the sofa with Tony once he’s made tea for the three of them. 

“You don’t mind staying here tonight, do you?” Tony asks as he nestles in against Bucky, then nuzzles a kiss against his chest. Like Bucky, he’s changed back into sweats and a knit pullover, and he looks like he would be happy to spend the whole rest of the week that way. “Though I guess Steve’s bed isn’t as big as ours.” 

“I don’t mind… we used to sleep like spoons, y’know, me and Stevie, pressed real close to stay warm, in a narrow single bed.” Bucky closes his eyes against the memory, then leans in to kiss the top of Tony’s head. “We were very, very stupid, both of us. Thinking we couldn’t have this...” 

“God, how did you even manage?” Tony pauses, then muffles a cough against his first. “Is it horrible of me to admit that I’m glad you waited? I feel like I should feel bad about that, but all I feel is grateful.” 

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound and nuzzles another kiss into Tony’s hair when he coughs again. He’s starting to get that raspy little catch at the back of his voice that means he’s coming down something and that his throat is bothering him. He always gets sick like this: the sore throat and ticklish cough first, then the sneezes and stuffed up nose. 

A small smile appears on Bucky’s face when he realizes he knows both Steve and Tony well enough to tell when both of them are coming down with something. The realization makes him cuddle Tony in closer against his chest, wanting nothing more than to keep him there and take care of him now that he’s getting sick, too. 

“Mm… we just needed the right moment. Drink your tea if your throat’s bothering you, sweetheart.” 

Tony makes a little skeptical sound, but he also gives a little relieved sigh when he takes a few sips from his mug. When Bucky rubs the back of his neck, Tony flicks his gaze up at Bucky, holds it for a few seconds, then shrugs and takes another sip from his mug of honeyed tea. 

“It didn’t even hurt before, not until we got halfway through that conference all, then I coughed, and…” A shrug, then a quick cough and a long drink from the tea. 

“Stevie germs,” Bucky murmurs, and laughs when Tony raises an eyebrow. “You just spent the same thirty-six hours I was out in the field letting him sniffle all over you.” 

“I didn’t exactly--okay, yeah, pretty much. But he’s _sick_.” Tony doesn’t sound sorry at all, though he does sound like his throat really does hurt. “Anyway, we were on that last mission together.” 

“So, you probably just got each other sick, that’s what you’re saying?” Bucky can’t help the way his heart warms at that thought, too, or the way he starts petting the soft, fine, dark hair at the nape of Tony’s neck. 

“Maybe? I don’t know… I don’t care,” he adds in a softer voice. He shifts so he can curl in better against Bucky’s chest, and then press his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck. “I don’t care if it got me here for Christmas.” 

There’s something so genuine and heartfelt in Tony’s voice, something vulnerable and almost fragile, that Bucky holds him very close and very tight, and very, _very_ warm. When Tony muffles a couple little coughs against his neck, Bucky strokes Tony’s hair again, then nudges him up so he can press a kiss to his forehead. 

“It took us a while, but we’ve all been heading here, all this time.” His breathing goes a little shaky there for a second, but Bucky smiles when Tony leans in to kiss him on the lips. 

“I think we all have…” Tony kisses him again, then pulls away slightly when Bucky tenses against the hug. “Let me look at your arm and your left shoulder.” 

“I think it’s all right…” Bucky tenses up a little more when Tony’s fingertips skim the seam between his arm and shoulder through his sweater. 

“Let him look at your shoulder, Buck,” Steve says as he shuffles back into the living room. He has clean PJs on, with Bucky’s maroon vee-neck pulled on over them again, and he sits down on the sofa with a tired, stuffy little huff of a sigh. When Tony holds out his hand, Steve passes him glasses and tablet. 

“I’ll just scan it quickly…” Tony has to pause and clear his throat, then clear it again, then gives a brief, offhand shrug when Steve rests his hand on Tony’s shoulder. When he has to cough in earnest, Steve’s hand squeezes Tony’s shoulder; Tony turns to rub his cheek against Steve’s hand. The moment’s brief, then Steve’s hand slips down to rest against his back. “Thanks, sunshine,” Tony murmurs and the pink flush on Steve’s cheeks is unmistakable. 

Tony brings up a holograph schematic of Bucky’s arm and where it hooks into his back and chest, points out a few things to Steve on the schematic, then nods gratefully when Steve keeps on stroking his shoulders and back. 

“You’re right, Buckybot, the arm’s in pretty good condition. You must be pretty sore around here, though,” he adds and touches Bucky’s shoulder, then his chest. “There’s some bruising and muscle strain…” 

Bucky knows he’s holding himself against the soreness on his left side; it takes him a good few minutes to let it go, to let himself leave the mission behind and let himself be fussed over a little by Tony and Steve. 

He wants to take care of them, both of them with this ridiculous post-mission cold they picked up, but ... but Bucky knows that kind of caring has to go both ways, that he wants them to take care of him, too. So, he gives a small nod and leans into the way Tony rubs his chest. As soon as he does, as soon as he lets himself relax and hold himself so tense against the pain and fatigue, Bucky feels that ache and exhaustion take over. 

“Painkillers for you, or at least the heating pad,” Tony says and looks at Bucky, then glances at Steve. “And decongestants for you,” he adds, clears his throat again, and still has to cough against the rasp. 

Steve makes a small, soft sound, and leans in to press a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I gave you my cold.” 

“It’s nothing… well, the coughing, and the throat thing, but...” Tony shakes his head when Steve worries at him, but gives in to the cuddles when Steve nuzzles against his ear. 

“I don’t know, it’s a pretty bad cold,” Steve murmurs. He kisses Tony’s shoulder again, then looks up at Bucky. “Movie? I’ll try my best to stay awake if we get in bed, but I think you’ll be more comfortable there.” 

“Movie,” Bucky agrees. “And it doesn't really matter, Stevie.” His whole left side is sore, though, and Bucky can’t help the groan of relief when Tony leads him back to the bedroom and helps him ease against a few stacked pillows. 

When Steve shuffles into his bedroom, hair messy and nose pink, carrying cold medicine, painkillers, and a heating pad, Bucky feels both relieved and fond. He also accepts the ibuprofen Steve hands him, and doesn’t complain at all when Tony picks out the sappiest, most predictable Christmas movie he can find, or when he snugs the heating pad against Bucky’s left side. 

Bucky makes Steve sleep in the middle, between him and Tony, which makes Steve sigh and Tony laugh. They both end up coughing, too, and Bucky takes advantage of the momentary weakness to get them both in bed under the pile of blankets Steve owns. 

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Steve starts sneezing. Tired, stuffy sneezes that come in sets of two or three at a time, hitching breaths in between, and watery, itchy eyes when he finally finishes. He keeps rubbing his face, too, and blowing his nose sounds like it takes enough out of Steve that he’d rather just snuffle into a handful of tissues. All of which is as good a sign as any that he needs to let himself fall asleep, nestled down into the blankets and between Tony and Bucky. 

Spooning up around Steve is the easiest, most familiar thing for Bucky; his body remembers the shape of Steve’s. Bucky slips his arm over Steve’s hip and his fingers between Tony’s and knows he could spend every night like this, nestled in close and warm with the two men he loves.

*

Steve’s snoring his quiet, congested sick snores when Bucky wakes up, but Tony’s already sitting up in bed. His hair is a complete, rumpled, adorable mess, as good a sign as any he just sat up in bed, curled in against the pillows and blankets, and reached for his glasses and phone.

Said phone is in one hand, and in the other, a few crumpled tissues that he keeps swiping against his nose. Tony’s sniffling, too, soft, damp sniffles that make the edges of his nose twitch enough that Bucky can tell the runny nose is bothering him. He’ll sniffle a couple times, wrinkle his nose up, then sniffle against the tissues. The process repeats itself a few times, until Tony has to hold the tissues closer to his face. 

He tenses, shoulders drawn in, and muffles back two sneezes in a row, quiet, but not completely silent. He rocks forward into the sneezes, but keeps the motion as subtle as he can. The sneezes are enough to get him to blow his nose, also quietly, and then reach for a couple more tissues from the box they kept on the bed for Steve. 

When Tony reaches for the Kleenex, he notices Bucky watching him, and a soft, sleepy smile appears on his face. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and raspy-egded. “Good morning.” 

“Morning, sweetheart.” Bucky props himself up on one elbow, then smiles when Steve burrows in closer to him, still asleep. “How d’you feel?” 

Tony shrugs and pushes his nose up against the tissues again, rubbing back and forth a few times. He considers for a few seconds. “Like I have a cold.” 

“Mhmm… look like it, too.” Bucky tugs the blankets up higher over himself and Steve, then stretches with a long, deep yawn. He’s not tired enough to fall back asleep again, but he’s not ready to get out of the warm bed just yet, either. “Did you sleep enough?” 

“Define ‘enough,’ babe. I slept.” Tony puts his phone aside, then leans in over Steve to kiss Bucky. His glasses slip down his nose and he wrinkles his nose up against them, then against a couple sniffles. 

“Did you sleep well?” Bucky kisses Tony back, nuzzling against his nose, nuzzles against him more firmly when his nose twitches against yet another sniffle. 

“Not as well as this one,” Tony murmurs. He coughs and clears his throat, and glances at Steve, who’s curled up on his side, face tucked in against Bucky When he leans down to press a small, quiet kiss against the blanket over Steve’s shoulder, he lingers there for a couple moments and rubs his nose against the blanket. “He hardly ever sleeps like this… I’ve seen him, after missions, how restless he is...” 

“Only when he’s sick and I dope him up on NyQuil,” Bucky says. Tony’s right, though, Steve generally only sleeps so deeply and for so long when he’s sick and when he feels comfortable enough to let himself. 

Bucky’s about to say something to that effect, but Tony catches his gaze and gives him a little smile, like he knows, like he already knows that Steve wouldn’t sleep this well with anyone else. And Tony must have slept some, because although he has that pale, pink-nosed, shadow-eyed look about him that he always does when he catches a cold, he doesn't look completely exhausted. His nose is bothering him, though, in that itchy-twitchy way that just looks like it’s stuffy and runny at the same time, like he needs to sneeze and blow his nose, and is trying to stop himself from doing either or both. 

“Here, let me...” Bucky reaches up to slip Tony’s reading glasses off, then, as gently as he can, massages the space between Tony’s eyebrows and over the bridge of his nose, where he knows the head cold congestion headaches tend to settle. 

Nose twitching again, Tony turns to press his face into his shoulder. The sneezes back down for about ten seconds, then shudder through him as he muffles another double into the cardigan he has on over his pajamas. At their place, he has a couple robes, but the sweater makes him so soft around the edges, so sleep-warm and comfortable, and he rubs his face into the sleeve with a little sigh of relief. 

“Oh… That’s… that’s definitely a thing that’s happening.” Tony shakes his head briefly, then murmurs a thanks when Bucky hands him a couple more tissues. He sniffles into them, puts his glasses back on, and sniffles again. 

“Bless you, sweetheart…” Bucky reaches across Steve to stroke Tony’s arm, then pats Steve on the back when he makes a stuffy, coughish sort of sound. “My poor sick guys, you both got a winter head cold…” 

Tony starts to protest, then just pulls a couple more tissues from the box with a look of resignation and sneezes twice in a row again. He even has to tug his glasses back off and bury his nose right in the tissues, coughing and sniffling afterwards. Tony rubs at his eye, too, a little like Steve does when he’s sick, and something just gets to Bucky at how similar they are in some ways. 

“Bless you,” Bucky repeats, then shakes his head when Steve mumbles something like a blessing into the blankets and Bucky’s chest after Tony sneezes. 

He’s hardly awake and when he raises his head from Bucky’s chest, all Steve does is blink at the two of them in sleepy confusion. His nose is so pink, rubbed red and raw around the nostrils, from all the snuffling and scrubbing it against tissues last night. 

“Go back to sleep, Steven,” Tony says. “I feel like I keep having to tell you that,” he adds, sounding stuffy himself already. 

Steve shakes his head, then knuckles at his eyes as he pulls himself to sit up with Tony and Bucky in bed. He frowns at himself, too, and then has to cough himself the rest of the way awake. 

“You sound _worse_ ,” Tony comments, worried, and then reaching for the bottle of water on the bedside table. 

Steve shakes his head, though he lets Bucky rub his chest when he coughs a few more times. “Just sounds bad…” 

“... really bad.” Tony hands the water over and gives Bucky a strained kind of look. 

Steve’s probably right this time; colds still bother his chest and he does end up sounding worse than he feels after a few days. But Tony looks worried, probably more anxious than he would be if he weren’t sick himself, and Bucky would do anything he could to keep that worried look off Tony’s face, just like he’d do anything to keep Steve from getting that lingering cough. 

So, Bucky reaches up to brush Steve’s hair off his forehead, rests his palm there, and murmurs a soft, quiet endearment when Steve leans into the touch. 

“You don’t feel too warm. Does your chest feel tight, babydoll? Like you’re going to start wheezing?” Bucky kisses Steve’s temple, then lets his hand fall to Steve’s chest when he shakes his head. “How about your sinuses?” 

“Stuffy?” Steve replies, and Tony nods when he does, which, well, you can hear it in Steve’s voice how swollen and congested his sinuses have to be. “Worse than my chest, anyway.” 

“Steven.” Tony frowns again, but less strained with worry this time, then shakes his head as he ducks aside with two more sudden, ticklish sneezes. He lets those two out more freely, and there’s a shivery sound to them that must set his nose running. 

“God bless you, honey… sorry, it’s a bad cold,” Steve murmurs. “Finally got somebody to spend the night, and I was all contagious.” 

“ _Steven_ ,” Tony says again. He touches the side of Steve’s face and leans in to kiss him, says something against his lips, then kisses him again, and looks at Steve with reassurance in his eyes. 

That’s when Bucky really knows that there’s always been something simmering between the three of them all along; that he and Stevie had the kind of warmth pressed between their bodies on that narrow single bed that more than friends have; that Steve and Tony had looked at each other with more warmth that necessary before they pulled Bucky out of that HYDRA stronghold; that Steve had kept everything so close to his heart, so _painfully_ close, that it took this long for him to let Bucky and Tony look after him. 

So Bucky kisses Tony on the forehead, and then Steve, and then promises them tea and breakfast as soon as he can make it. They’re both coughing and sniffling and blowing their nose when he gets to the kitchen, but all Bucky can feel is fond warmth in his chest for both of them. 

Walking around Steve’s apartment, wearing a pair of Steve’s borrowed sweatpants and long sleeve tee shirt makes Bucky feel warm and cozy, too. Not that navy sweats and a grey tee are that much different from what he owns, but they’re Steve’s, and Bucky loves the way they feel against his skin, the way they smell faintly of Steve’s laundry soap and bed linens. They smell like Steve and Bucky wants to wrap himself up in the scent. 

There’s tea and toast on the table and Bucky’s pondering scrambled eggs when Tony comes to wrap his arms around Bucky. He nuzzles his face against Bucky’s arm and gets in a few kisses before Bucky wraps that arm around his shoulders. 

“You’re an affectionate sick person,” Bucky murmurs. 

Tony gives a soft cough against Bucky, then nods. “Sometimes, sure. For you and my sunshine boy…” 

“He’s definitely that, your sunshine boy.” Bucky presses a cup of tea into Tony’s hand and nods his approval when Tony takes a few sips. “Do you want eggs, too? Stevie, doll, d’you want scrambled eggs?” he asks when Steve shuffles into the kitchen area. 

Steve still looks sleep rumpled, his blond hair fluffy and messy, but he nods in reply and takes the mug when Tony passes Steve his own tea to drink. 

“This is exactly how you got each other sick, you realize that, right? Sharing drinks and cooing over each other when one of you so much as sneezes.” Bucky goes for admonishing, but ends on fond when Tony looks at him all soft and sweet and snifflish. “Right, scrambled eggs with toast. Then I need to go home and change before my debrief around noon.” 

“Oh…” Steve looks disappointed, but forces the expression off his face as quickly as he can. He even gives himself a shake, but a trace of disappointment and insecurity lingers. “Of course, Buck. You both probably want to go home after breakfast, anyway.” 

Tony and Bucky exchange a look, and Tony shifts away from Bucky to allow Bucky to slip his arms around Steve. 

“I’m wearing your clothes, babydoll. D’you really think I want to be away from you? Do you think either of us do?” Bucky kisses the tip of Steve’s ear and makes a quiet, curious sound. 

“I promise you we don’t.” Tony rubs his hand over Steve’s chest, through the sweatshirt he has on, and repeats the motion when Steve gives a rough, quiet cough. “Come home with us? You can keep your own place, too, or, I mean… I can rebuild the floor around your place?” 

“Or I could stay through the holidays and we could go from there?” Steve suggests, and his gold eyelashes brush against his cheeks when he looks down, touched and bashful all at once. 

Tony keeps on petting Steve’s chest until he starts coughing; coughing makes him start sniffling like crazy, too, and it’s only a matter of minutes until the sneezes catch up with him again. He sneezes twice into the crook of his arm, raises his head, then ducks back down with another two sneezes that leave his nose red and his eyes watering. 

“Ugh. Sorry. I’m a mess,” he adds in a stuffy voice. “I should probably--” 

“Sofa. You should probably go to the sofa.” Bucky says and gives Steve a little push. “Go rest and keep Tony warm and let me bring you breakfast. Then you should come home with us.”

*

**Best Guy 💙Buck ❤️**  
 _Did you get everything settled in? And by everything I mean: clothes, etc. and art stuff you need through Christmas. I’ll grab the rest of your stuff, Stevie._

Steve  
_Tony keeps offering to buy me new things…_

**Best Guy 💙Buck ❤️**  
_And you keep melting, right? Tell him you want new drawing pencils…_

_Babydoll, you deserve all those things._ ❤️

Steve  
_He’s got the Blick website open, and IKEA, and Target. He also wants to know what YOU want for the bedroom is we redo and also what you want for dinner._

_Did you two get married when I wasn’t looking?_

**Best Guy 💙Buck ❤️**  
_Just him buy you stuff, he’s sick and wants to do something nice._

_Well… something like that, I guess. Welcome to domestic bliss?_

Steve  
_Or something like that._ 😍

*

Two days into his cold, Tony is completely down for the count. His whole head’s congested, his throat’s a wreck, everything seems to make his eyes water and his nose itch. Unlike Steve, he only manages a couple hours of sleep at a time, but he’s a lot more willing to curl up on the sofa and nap between watching mindless television and attempting to do work.

Which Steve discovers is adorable. Tony can hardly get through an email without having to sneeze or cough his way through that headcold, but he won’t hand the task over to Pepper no matter how many times she replies about his rambling memos in his stuffy voice by telling him to rest. 

Bucky’s running point on a mission upstate, scheduled to be back that evening, and Steve’s just back from his afternoon meeting. He still has that getting-over-a-cold feeling lingering in his head: traces of congestion, the snag in his chest, the last bit of fatigue that gets him into bed earlier than usual. 

Tony, though, drops right into Steve’s lap as soon as Steve gets back and tucks his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. He’s wearing the warm cream knit sweater that Steve was wearing a few days ago, the sleeves slipping down over his wrists, and a pair of what have to be Bucky’s flannel pajama pants. 

“Did you get some rest, honey?” Steve wraps both arms around Tony before easing back against the sofa cushions, then rubs his palm up and down Tony’s back when he nods. “Maybe not enough, though?” 

Tony shrugs, then presses his face tightly to Steve’s neck. The gesture doesn’t last long, not with how stuffy he is, but it’s an affectionate one nonetheless. He kisses the side of Steve’s neck, the touch of his nose and lips warm and a little snuffly, and he pats Steve on the chest when he gives a low, rough cough. 

“It’s harder to rest when you and Buck aren’t around,” Tony admits, then raises his face from Steve’s neck. “Easier to get up and get some work done.” 

“Especially when you’re sick? I know…” Brushing his thumb over the rise of Tony’s cheekbone, Steve gages how warm Tony’s skin feels and how tired his eyes look. Not too much for the first, and much too much for the second. Steve gently traces the pad of his thumb over the shadows underneath Tony’s eyes, then strokes Tony’s cheek when his eyes start to water. “I have some reading to do, so we can relax together.” 

Tony nods, eyes still teary, and pushes his nose against the cuff of his sleeve. His nose flushes a deep, sensitive pink, and trembles as he tries to fight off the tickle, then loses as his face crumples. 

When Tony sneezes, he curls in on himself and away from Steve, shoulders shuddering against the strength of them now that his head is so congested. They’re still coming in pairs, quiet, stuffy sneezes that tease him as they build up, with a few hitching breaths between the two. The first sneeze leaves Tony’s eyes watering and the second looks like it takes a lot out of him, especially after the stuffy coughs start up. 

Steve hands Tony a few tissues and strokes between his shoulders as he coughs and sniffles into them, resigning himself to rubbing his nose into the tissues when he’s too stuffed up to try and blow his nose. He huffs a sigh and rests his head against Steve’s shoulder, then slips his arm around Steve’s chest. Which makes it so, so easy for Steve to put both his arms around Tony and to tuck him in close until they are more tangled up around each other on the sofa than anything else. 

“I still feel so bad I got you sick. You took such good care of me when you didn’t need to, and now… you have the horrible cough and congestion.” Every time Tony coughs, Steve rubs his back or strokes his hair, knowing the small comforts help at least a little bit. 

“You’re wrong about one of those things.” Tony gives Steve one of his soft, open looks and leans up to kiss his cheek. “What makes you think I didn’t need to take care of you?” 

“You didn’t,” Steve says, but in his heart he knows now that that’s not entirely right anymore. 

“I did. I do, I always do. I’m so glad you’re home,” Tony murmurs. His voice is soft, blurred with sickness and sleepiness, and he nuzzles into Steve’s neck with a little yawn. 

“Me, too.” Steve tightens his arm around Tony and doesn’t pull that reading out for a good, long while.

*

Bucky ends up having to run point on another mission to upstate New York about a week later, taking Steve’s strike team out to do clean up on the first mission. Steve goes with him to the briefing before the mission and then out to the quinjet when he has to leave early the next morning.

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve says. “I can take my team out. I read your reports and the debrief and watched the mission sims--” 

Bucky shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. There’s something about the motion that’s too ragged. “They’re giving us twelves hours out there, but I’m pretty sure I can get in and out of that base in less than ten.” 

“Bucky,” Steve tries his softest voice, but it only earns him a quiet kiss against his ear. 

It’s just after four in the morning, five days before Christmas, and soft flurries are just starting to fall over New York City. The world at the top of the Avengers Tower is quiet, the wind swirling snowflakes around the building, and the air smells clean and cold, with the faintest touch of winter woodsmoke. 

“I’ll be back soon, babydoll, you won’t even miss me,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s ear and presses another kiss there. His voice is morning rough, but there’s a faint catch at the back, something he can’t quite clear from the back of his throat, the faintest touch of congestion in his head. 

“I will.” Steve leans into the touch as long as he can, then rests a hand on Bucky’s chest and rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “This is just like… when I had to send you on those overnight raids, put you on sniper duty in the darkest place I’d ever seen, and I knew you were the best. The best we had in the whole Army, but…” Steve’s voice wavers and he just shakes his head. 

“Baby, I know. But I’ll be back this afternoon.” Bucky lingers for a few moments, brushing kisses over Steve’s lips then yielding to the way Steve touches his face and jaw. He lowers his eyes, shy and soft, and nods when Steve gives him a little nudge. “Go Christmas shopping with Tony and show me what you guys buy. Let him buy you something really nice.” 

Even though it’s dark and cold, Steve shoves his hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt he has on with his jeans and waits for Bucky to board the quinjet, then for the jet to leave the Tower. Once it’s gone, the city is all silent snow and night time lights. 

Tony’s awake when Steve gets back to their place, in his warm robe and pajamas, drinking coffee, and reading the morning paper on his tablet as he leans against the kitchen counter. He peers over the rims of his glasses when Steve walks into the kitchen, then holds out an arm for him to come near. 

“Everything good?” Tony asks. 

“You watched Buck run pre-op protocol from here. Everything’s good,” Steve says anyway, then slides his arm around Tony’s waist. He tries not to think about Bucky, about how low his voice sounded this morning and how easily he yielded to Steve’s kisses even though they weren’t alone. “Let’s go Christmas shopping once after your morning meeting. Let’s go to Macy’s and look at the department store windows.” 

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Tony murmurs. He takes a sip of his coffee, then holds the mug up for Steve to take it, the red reindeer mug that Bucky brought him coffee in before he left. 

“I know.” Steve still drinks his coffee black with sugar, but the cream no sugar that Tony prefers is hot and soothing, a familiar warmth that reminds Steve of home and lazy mornings already. 

When Tony tips his head back against Steve’s shoulder, he smiles. “And, sure, I’ll take you Christmas shopping. Fifth Avenue and Herald Square are all yours, Steven. I’ll even take you to see Santa.”

*

Tony slips his hand into Steve’s coat pocket when Steve’s phone rings, opens FaceTime before Steve can ask who it is, and realizes he doesn’t need to ask when he sees the smile on Tony’s face.

“Please say you’re done already... We’re in a coffee shop that looks and smells like Christmas.” Tony leans in closer to the phone to give Bucky a soft, private smile, then pans the phone around the cafe until he lands on Steve, who’s sitting next to him. “It’s Bucky.” 

“I guessed that. Hey, Buck,” Steve smiles when he sees Bucky, and then smiles again when he can see that Bucky’s changed out of most of his tac gear. “Tony grabbed your mission updates, but I guess you know that already. Everything was fine?” 

“Yeah, he’s not subtle, but it was fine, pretty standard. Is half the city in the cafe with you?” Bucky asks, and reaches up to press the heel of one hand against his eye. He’s in one of Steve’s hoodies, with the hood actually pulled up over his head, and when he lowers his hand, both his eyes look tired and pink around the edges. 

“I think it’s just the tourist population,” Tony replies. He nestles into the arm Steve puts around his shoulder, then rests his own head against Steve’s shoulder. “You look tired, Bucky bear.” 

The soft term of endearment brings a bashful expression to Bucky’s face, but he doesn’t shrug the question off. “Kind of. We were in and out in six hours, but it was pretty tense.” He rubs at both eyes, then holds the side of his wrist up against his nose. When he sniffles, it’s brief and quiet, but it’s not nothing. 

“Oh,” Steve says, his voice also dipping soft and low, and he can’t help how he has to smile again at how bashful Bucky looks when he can’t hide how tired his eyes are or how itchy his nose is. “We went shopping.” 

“Like I told you to? Good. What did Tony buy?” 

“How do you even know it was me who--” 

“Blankets, mostly. And sweaters. And some candles and holiday decorations, and--” 

“--don’t listen to him, Buck,” Tony cuts in. “I bought way more than that. Anyway, the two of you led blanket-deprived lives. My two little match boys,” he says, and ignores the sigh Steve gives him. “I got the fancy tea you like, too, with the citrus peel...” 

“He’s nesting,” Steve murmurs. But the expression on Bucky’s face has gone soft and fond, too, and Steve can’t deny the warmth and fondness in his own heart for all the cozy things Tony wants to fill their living spaces with. 

“He… he’s--” Bucky’s voice goes quiet and breathless, and he shakes his head in apology before having to press his nose up against his wrist again. This time, though, he lets out a quick, quiet set of three sneezes, his eyes squeezing shut against each one, and his nose flushing pink around the edges by the time he’s done. “Ohh...” 

“Bless you,” Tony says, then squeezes Steve’s knee when he echoes with a ‘god bless you’ of his own. 

“Excuse me… I felt that coming for a while now,” Bucky mutters. He already sounds stuffed up and looks like he’s been rubbing his face before he called, which makes that statement all the more believable. 

“Thank goodness you’re almost home.” 

“Right? What’s your ETA? Steven or I can join you in debrief, if you want?” Tony asks. 

“Around five? Routine post-mission meeting, you don’t need to.” There’s a silent plea in his voice, though, and Bucky looks like he’s been fighting what has to be a head cold all day. Tired, pale, pink around his eyes and nose.

“Who’s running the meeting? Fury? Hill?” Tony’s already calculating how quickly he can get that meeting over with, if the thoughtful expression on his face is any explanation. 

“Romanov,” Bucky answers. His nose twitches around another quiet sniffle and he pushes it roughly against the knuckles on his left hand, a gesture that makes Steve’s nose wrinkle in sympathy. 

“Hm, toss up, then, who she likes better, me or Cap.” 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “The answer’s probably Bucky, at least from a professional standpoint. I can go up to mission ops and grab your paperwork, though, Buck, and get dinner ready.” 

“Which leaves me with the Former Russian Assassins Network. I can handle that, get you out before six.” Tony gestures at Bucky with his coffee cup, then puts the cup down to add the meeting to his schedule on his smart watch. 

Bucky laughs, too, but he also has to clear his throat and scrub both hands over his face, leaving him pink around the edges and more tired than he usually looks after a standard mission like this one. 

“All right, dinner at six, it’s a date. Is it still snowing back home?” Bucky asks. 

“It is, but you should be able to land all right.” Steve lets Tony take the phone and pan it towards the cafe window they’re sitting next to and show Bucky the fluffy white flakes still falling in the city. 

“Not much accumulation yet, but… it’s really pretty,” Tony adds in a wistful voice. “Maybe tonight, though.” 

The three of them talk a little longer while Steve and Tony finish up the fancy, festive drinks Tony had procured for them both. A gingerbread latte for Tony, and a white chocolate mocha for Steve, both with an inordinate amount of whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa on top. Bucky’s a little coughish and snifflish through their call, and he definitely sounds like his head is getting more stuffed up each time he stifles back a trio of his quiet, ticklish sneezes. 

“I’ll make you some of your tea so you can have it at your meeting,” Steve promises. “Okay, honey?” 

Bucky nods and thanks Steve, and talks to him and Tony until he has to run the landing procedure with Natasha. Which is about when Steve decides they should let another couple have their cafe table, anyway. 

The snow is falling softly on the streets and sidewalks as the sun sets and everything about the world that afternoon feels like Christmas is coming.

*

Tony drops Bucky’s tablet, paperwork, and travel mug on the coffee table when they get back, then rests his hand at the small of Bucky’s back to guide him to the sofa. He give Steve a look, a fond, slightly exasperated one, and shakes his head.

“Okay, now you can explain to Steven how you thought it was a good idea to volunteer to do a sweep of the adjacent HYDRA facilities to that warehouse.” Crossing his arms, Tony leans against the armrest and tries to give Bucky a stern look. He fails spectacularly, however, and ends up crowding himself in next to Bucky as soon as Bucky sniffles. 

“I did not…” Bucky waves his left hand in a vague gesture, then pinches his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. “I could do that job in an hour. Maybe less.” 

“Could doesn’t mean you have to, Buck,” Steve says and sits down on Bucky’s left side after Tony takes the seat on the other end of the couch. “You don’t owe anyone anything. Not SHIELD, not the Avengers...” 

Bucky makes a motion like he’s going to protest, then sinks into the sofa cushions as he rubs at the bridge of his nose again. He always gets sick like this; he’s always gotten sick like this. The dry, ticklish throat, then the congestion and headache. That quick mission probably preempted the run down, cranky stage, and now Bucky’s just tired and stuffy. 

“If you say so, Stevie, but I’m reminding you of that the next time you work a month with no downtime.” Bucky covers his face with a fist to muffled back a couple coughs, but the sound of his face and the way he’s already snuffly make it clear that cold is all in his head. 

“He’s right, though,” Tony agrees. “I wonder how many sick days Steve owes us?”

Bucky chuckles, then tips his head head towards Tony when he starts stroking Bucky’s hair and pulls it out of the ponytail at the nape of his neck. 

“I think he took one in 1943,” Bucky murmurs. 

“That’s not fair, neither of you let me even leave the Tower for two days last week.” Steve leans over to kiss Bucky, then Tony, however, and gets back up to plate dinner for the three of them. “I picked up Thai for dinner. Soup and pad thai and curry.” 

“That sounds nice, doll.” Bucky leans nearer to kiss Steve again, then presses his face into Tony’s shoulder when Steve leaves to get their food. 

From the kitchen, Steve can hear the conversation Tony and Bucky are having about Bucky’s mission, then about the day out Steve and Tony had. Bucky’s coughs and sneezes punctuate the conversation, more frequent and less held back now that he’s home. Tony blesses him every time, even when Bucky manages a half dozen of his soft, stuffy sneezes in a row. He’s practically cooing over Bucky by that point and Steve’s not surprised to find Tony tucking a few strands of hair behind Bucky’s ear while Bucky sniffles into tissues. 

Steve hands bowl of hot and sour soup over to Tony and Bucky first, then tucks the box of tissues between the two of them on the sofa. Bucky’s nose starts running almost immediately and he gets through about half his bowl of soup with the quiet, constant sniffles before he has to surrender and put the bowl on the coffee table. 

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, bashfully, and tugs three tissues from the box before holding them over his pink, quivering nose. For a few seconds, he just sniffles into the tissues, rubbing them over his nose, then his breath catches on a gasp. He lowers the tissues for a moment, breath hitching desperately enough to bring tears to his eyes, and even gives an irritated cough just before he’s able to coax out the sneezes. 

The sneezes curl Bucky forward, burying his face in the tissues and tumbling his hair over his shoulders. He really sounds like he has a cold now that the scratchy throat and stuffy head have settled in. It’s the worn out look on his face after Bucky leans back into his seat that gets to Steve, though. The expression is so familiar, so very Bucky, and Steve can remember it from as far back as he can remember being friends with Bucky. 

“God bless you, Buck, honey… you probably got what Tony and I had,” Steve says. He kisses Bucky on the shoulder, then on the cheek, and nuzzles against him when Bucky leans into the touch. “How bad are you feeling?” 

“N-not so bad…?” Bucky’s breath trembles, but when he gets read for another little fit of the sneezes, the sensation backs down and leaves him with his tired, teary eyes and a blocked up nose. “Congested,” he says, and rubs his nose against the back of his wrist. “I didn’t actually think I’d get what you guys had. I hardly ever get sick like this.” 

“Also, you cuddled him as much as I did and sat up with me when I was too sick to sleep, so...” Tony points out. He reaches for Bucky’s soup and hands it back to him, then strokes his hair again when Bucky gives a congested sniffle. “At least try and finish your soup…” 

“Tony’s right. About the soup, mostly, but I am sorry about being patient zero around here. It’s a pretty bad cold and we all ended up with it.” Steve can’t help but feel a little embarrassed about how contagious he ended up being with his winter cold. Bucky definitely caught that cold the most quickly of the three of them and he’ll probably be stuffy and tired for a good few days. 

“Because we love you, Steven. I mean--” Tony motions with his spoon to the way Steve’s cuddled against Bucky’s side. “We love you more than we hate catching whatever supersoldier bug you picked up.” 

“Okay, that’s… oddly comforting, thanks, Tony.” It is comforting, though, to know that Bucky wants to curl up with the two of them as much now that he’s sick as he did when Steve and Tony weren’t feeling good. 

Dinner is easy and relaxed that night, the takeout pad thai, rice, and two curry dishes Steve chose more than enough for the three of them. At some point, Tony puts some version of the Yule Log on the television and curls up protectively close against Bucky’s side. 

“You both look sleepy,” Tony murmurs. 

The Yule Log is halfway through and dinner’s over, Bucky’s about to doze off against Steve, and Steve’s so warm and full and happy. Bucky’s face is tucked right in along his neck, Tony’s narrating their shopping day to Bucky, and all Steve wants is to bask in how good it feels to have an evening together like this. He kisses the top of Bucky’s head when Bucky snuffles against him, then gives him a little nudge. 

“I’m good,” Steve says. He makes a move to start cleaning up, but pauses when Tony waves him back. 

“I can do the domesticity thing tonight. Leftovers, dishes, tea?” He asks, then gives Bucky a questioning look. 

“Dishwasher. We can run that tonight.” Bucky turns aside to cough after he talks, then brings his handful of crumpled tissues up to his nose. After he’s done snuffling into them, he takes a few more clean ones from Tony and presses his knee into the way Tony rubs it as he blows his nose. “And tea, please.” 

“Definitely tea, baby boy, with the way your voice is already going.” Tony stands and stretches, so his sweater rides up enough for Steve to see the angle of his hip and the soft skin he knows he’ll stroke as he settles into bed together later. 

Once Tony’s in the kitchen, Bucky turns in Steve’s arms and nuzzles into his neck warmly. He has pajama pants on with his hoodie, his hair down around his shoulders, and Steve’s pretty sure this is the softest he’s ever seen Buck. 

“He calls you _sunshine boy_ ,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s skin. He tucks his hair behind his ear when he looks up, then smiles. “He’s right.” 

“I’m not sure anyone else would say that.” Warmth flushes over Steve’s cheeks and neck and he knows he’s blushing, so he looks away. His Ma used to call him that sometimes, and Bucky, too, especially during the war. 

“Does anyone else ever matter?” Bucky gives Steve a few seconds, then touches his cheek to get Steve to look at him. 

A year ago, SHIELD had pulled Steve out of the ice and he woke up in a world he hardly recognized. Everything was bright and cold and wrong, and Steve had been convinced he’d never feel warm again, he’d never find the warmth that he had back home, years before the war. Then there’d been the battle of New York, and the infiltration of the HYDRA base in Washington, D.C., and the growing warmth between the three of them. 

A year ago, Steve thought he had nothing. Now he has . 

Now he has this: a home, and the inimitable warmth of knowing he’s home. He has his two best friends and the kind of love he never thought would find him. 

“No,” Steve says, “nobody else does, not the way you and Tony matter now.” 

Bucky strokes Steve’s cheek, then brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead. The cold’s softened all Bucky’s edges, all his smiles all soft and sleepy, and the kiss he gives Steve is, too. 

“Good… Y-you…. Oh…” Bucky turns aside, still for a moment, then muffles three sneezes into his shoulder. They come over him so quickly this time, and leave him looking a little surprised as well as sniffly. “Oh… you really did get me sick, babydoll…” 

Bucky’s voice is low and fond, though, and he cuddles himself back in so close to Steve on the sofa that he’s practically wrapped up around him. He stays that way, too, even when he needs about a half dozen tissues, and even when Tony comes back with tea and turns their sofa into a nest of blankets. 

“Did you really take Stevie to see Santa?” Bucky asks. His voice is low and raspy now, and he’s almost completely congested, but his face lights up when Tony nods. 

“Can you go to Macy’s and not see Santa? The first thing I did this morning was take him up to Santaland. We did the whole old-fashioned wooden escalator thing, too, so Steven would feel at home.” They’re all tangled up together on the sofa, blankets and all, yet Tony still finds a way to nudge his foot affectionately against Steve’s. 

“It was sweet,” Steve says. Because it was sweet, how Tony made sure there were almost the first people in the store, how he let the dozen kids behind them go in front of them, how he kissed Steve after they saw Santa and how he bought Steve coffee afterwards. 

“What did you ask for from Santa?” Bucky’s tired enough that he keeps rubbing his eyes and tired enough he doesn’t protest when Tony takes his mostly empty mug away. “The last time you went, you asked for drawing pencils, a baseball glove, and new shoes.” 

“I was ten,” Steve adds when Tony laughs. 

“He was sweet then, too,” Bucky adds, quietly, and pulls one of Steve’s hands into his own. 

They sit quietly for a while longer, the Yule Log on the television looping back to the start. Outside, it’s still snowing, and inside the living room is lit with the warm glow of their Christmas lights. 

Steve leans down to press a kiss into Bucky’s hair, then kisses him again when he rubs his face into Steve’s chest. He’ll fall asleep that way, without cold medicine, though Steve wants to give him a decongestant before they go to bed. Steve’s too comfortable to move, though, now that he has Bucky and Tony all to himself. 

“Drawing pencils. I asked for drawing pencils,” Steve murmurs, and catches the soft smile on Tony’s face. “I’ve got everything else I could wish for already.”


End file.
